


Winter Heat

by bettercrazythanboring



Category: Young Justice, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, The Team - Freeform, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 18:31:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettercrazythanboring/pseuds/bettercrazythanboring
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Artemis and Wally are voice actors whose job description includes being awesome partners in the booth and nothing but bickering entertainment for their friends outside it. Kissing was never supposed to be a part of their routine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter Heat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sarcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcat/gifts).



> Loosely inspired by [this charming video](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bIB29wdtkdg) of Jason Spisak (and Stephanie Lemelin, but mostly Jason) recalling the recording of the first Artemis/Wally kiss. At first. Originally written into Sarcatt's askbox. A big thanks to Hezpeller for beta reading and helping me through finishing it!

A gust of wind rustles his hair.

Wally instantly looks up from his game of Angry Birds. Could it  _be?_  Actual living, breathing people capable of coherent thought to converse with and work alongside? (Besides Kaldur, who, let's be real, hasn't spoken a single syllable to him all ten minutes that the redhead's been here.) Is he no longer doomed to be alone for the rest of the evening? Have his prayers  _finally_  been answered?

Oh. He slumps back into his creaky wooden chair. It's just  _her_.

The heavy metal door falls shut behind a short, temperamental blonde; her breath comes out in pants and her hair makes it rain on the carpet when she drags her fingers through the mussed mountain of it.

He drags a red tongue over his teeth and and puts his phone away. A breathing person is still a breathing person, after all. "What an honor to be graced with your presence,  _your goddess_ ," he says, crossing his ankles and linking arms behind his head.

"Yeah, hey," Artemis mutters absentmindedly, taking off her gloves.

The moment they're gone, her fingers dash to her cheeks and start pinching with all her might, hoping to get some heat back into them. The next time she goes out in this weather, she swears she's gonna put on anti-cold cream. She's gonna remember and she's gonna make time. Definitely. Even if she has to reset all the clocks in her apartment to be five minutes early. A voice actor with frozen facial muscles is simply no voice actor at all.

It's funny how she can tell Wally's staring at the way she's contorting her mouth into all possible shapes even though he's actually nowhere near her line of sight. She shoots him a quick glare—its intensity not lessened one bit by the mouth flexing or her palms rubbing her slowly warming skin, and, sure enough, he averts his eyes immediately. How predictable.

When the numbness retreats from her cheeks and lets pinching pain take it place, she finally takes a look around. "Anyone else here?"

"Nope." The chair whines as he sways back and forth on two legs. "Just Kal, quiet as a mouse. It's gonna be an intimate affair tonight, apparently." He smirks and his voice lowers to a mischievous tone. "Want me to light candles?"

She smiles sweetly, taking off her coat. "Only if I end up punching out a light bulb when aiming at your face."

He gasps scandalously, still balancing on two of the chair legs. " _Ohhh_ , but I thought you never miss."

"Yeah, well, you do enough missing for the both of us." She drags fingers through her damp hair and starts sorting through her things.

"That doesn't even make sense," he says through a stifled laugh.

Artemis tries her damndest to keep her lips from quirking. "I'll make your  _ass_  sense."

"I would  _love_  to see you try." Wally wags his finger at her with enough force that his balance takes offense and he nearly crashes the chair right through the ground.  _Nearly_.

What happens instead is him jumping forward to counteract the fall so far that he ends up on his knees on the floor, clutching his ribcage to make sure it didn't, y'know, rip out of his chest and splat against the ceiling or something equally as ridiculous.

All right. Deep breaths. You're still alive, Wall-man. And your insides appear to be intact.

In five minutes this will be nothing but a funny story you tell your grandchildren.

Or don't. Because, really, what loser's funniest story is falling off a chair?

"You okay there?" Artemis asks, starting to take her outrageously long and thick scarf off.

"Oh, I just had a near-death experience," he says, straightening and sitting back on the chair. His fingers brush an imaginary speck of dust off his shirt as he secretly focuses on inhaling and exhaling. "Nothing to worry about."

He clears his throat and thanks the existence of her scarf for the time he can take to compose himself. The wool tangles in her mane and and flies around in her arms and both its affixing  _and_  its removal always, always go hand in hand with annoyed grunts (as well as a wide array of frustrated grimaces) belonging to Artemis.

Wally knows from experience that, when the blonde's scarf is having intimate relations with her hair, trying to start up a conversation is entirely useless. Yay for him.

Oh, look, his heart's back to beating normally. And, unfortunately, so is the throbbing of boredom.

"Seriously, though, I wasn't kidding about the intimacy," he says when, at last, she smooths her hair back down and steps into the main area of the big room. "Didya read the script? I'm told we're finally getting  _laaaaid_  tonight."

He wiggles his eyebrows. Artemis only eyerolls.

She sets her stuff on the bench that's come to be known as hers—as far from Wally's as is possible in their little circle formation—and ruffles through her bag. Her scarred, cold fingers find—as always—a mass of empty gum wrappers, wrinkled receipts, and worn paperbacks the size of her palm.

She digs her script out from under bagel crumbs and a hair comb that hasn't been cleaned in a few days, and, since the others appear to be even later than she thought she'd be, starts flipping through it with barely a single thought given to the freckled man staring at her.

"Yep, it's gonna be a  _reeeeal_  orgy here," he continues with absentminded nods when she stays silent.

She flips a page with no sign of having heard him. In the two years they've known each other, the only thing she's truly learned about the man is his hatred of silence. Poor Kaldur. Who knows how long Wally's been here and talked at their supervisor with no chance of escaping?

"We'd better hope videos of it don't reach the fandom, huh?" Wally says conspiratorially, glancing at the one measly camera used to record voice actor shenanigans for DVD extra purposes. "Behind-the-scenes sextapes for children's shows are generally frowned upon."

At that, Artemis finally lifts her head and proceeds to shake it in annoyance. "You  _know_  it's just kissing, right?" She digs through her bag again and fishes out a towel to dry her hair a bit; water still drips down from it to the carpet. " _Kissing_. One partner each. At separate microphones. With no physical contact. What, did they change the definition of 'orgy' in the backward dimension you crawled out of?"

"Oh, no—I'm not that stupid—but, come _on_ ; work with me here." He gives her an amused grimace. " _Within_  the fictional universe. Ten people standing around in the same small, enclosed space and making out?  _Tell me_  that's not going anywhere. Offscreen, I mean," he adds with a grin. "Obviously."

Her face squishes into a grimace as she lets out a groan. "They're only teenagers, Wally!" Artemis sinks deeper into her chair. "Stop putting pictures in my head!"

"Yeah, well, last I checked, teenagers have sex. And I'm bored. And the only way you'll talk to me is if I annoy you. So." He sticks his tongue out.

She does the same.

"Plus, have you  _read_  the fanfiction?" he adds after a beat.

Her eyes shut and her foot taps against the floor, but she does give it some legitimate thought. For a minute or two.

Her lips purse after an exaggerated sigh escapes them. "Okay, maybe  _one_  couple might end up in the sack. Like, way,  _way_  past midnight. But the scene itself… If anything, it's just an awkward quintuple date."

"Were I a fly on  _that_  wall," he mutters.

She crosses her legs and rubs her hands together to heat them. "Why're you so excited about the kissing in the first place?"

"Why aren't  _you_?" He frowns. "It's been two entire seasons and neither of our characters have gotten any action. Do you even remember being a teenager? That's, like, hell."

He shudders. Then quickly opens and closes his mouth.

"I mean, not that I would know anything about extended periods of time without any action."

She stifles a laugh. "'Course you wouldn't." Her eyes return to the script.

Wally taps a palm on his knee and huffs out a breath. His eyes wander over to Kaldur, who's reading documents in his booth with a coffee mug in one hand and the other pushing the thick, black frame of his glasses up his nose. To Artemis, whose leather boots have hints of mud remaining on them. (Her sleeveless blue hoodie and the sight of bare, bronzed arms next to it send goosebumps up his own sweater-clad skin.) To the empty row of chairs standing in a semi-circle between them.

To the cell phone in his back pocket that is doubtless doing many things at this very moment—if the amount of butt dials from just last week is anything to go by—but not vibrating with new texts about the whereabouts of their comrades.

He flings a foot onto his knee and claps on his thighs to break the silence.

Once, twice, an irregular rhythm, and then her wordless glare from over the top of her manuscript stops him.

Wally checks the news on his phone. Reviews his French grammar for the day. Runs through the entire alphabet backwards. Twice. Counts the tiles on the ceiling.

Looks at the clock and seriously considers curing cancer.  _Surely_  it would less time than this.

"Where  _is_  everyone?" he asks at last, falling back into his chair with crossed arms.

"Probably traffic." Artemis looks up. "But, now that you mention it, you being the first one here  _is_  suspicious." She purses her lips. "Even more suspicious than you being on time  _at all_. Hey, Kal, did the weather report say anything about climate changes in Hell?" she yells into the other room.

Wally's expression turns sour. "Oh, ha. Ha.  _Who_  was the one late today, Miss Kettle?"

"Yeah, for the first time in, like, two months," she says with a snort. "I mean, I'm fine with calling you 'Mister Pot'," she adds, "but, I gotta say, I think it's gonna send the wrong message to the ladies."

"Hah, as if I were gonna pick  _anyone_  up while you're still close enough to be saying things. No,  _thank you_."

"And here I thought you just didn't have any game," Artemis says and returns to her script.

"No, that must have been you looking in the mirror."

Suddenly, there's heat on Wally's neck. He whips around and his gaze connects right with Kaldur's. Well, well, well. The boss has finally looked up from his documents.

It's probably for the best. The look in his eyes is enough to calm the hotheads down and, without the rest of their friends here to diffuse the tension, not calming down could have hazardous consequences.

The redhead watches as Kaldur surveys the largely empty room behind his large glasses.

"I think we should start without the rest," he says and, taking them off, discards his calmer persona in favor of a more energetic voice director. "There's plenty of material for the two of you alone."

Wally instantly grins and jumps up from his seat in one perfect, fluid motion. "Aye, aye, captain," he announces and dances all the way to his microphone, exercising his mouth muscles on the way.

Artemis does the same—albeit with less obvious enthusiasm—and, bit by bit, line by line, she and Wally run through all of their alone scenes in this episode.

Once, twice, then a third time…

Fifteen minutes later they're playing off each other almost effortlessly, all personal grievances forgotten. The script sparks alive between their lips, so vivid that it doesn't take much for Kaldur to see the scene behind his eyelids as well as if it were already animated.

It takes even less for him to steer the other two in a direction that's slightly  _more_  right.

Nobody who's ever seen Artemis and Wally interact together anywhere that wasn't in front of a mike would guess this—or believe it—but the two of them sincerely and thoroughly enjoy each other's company in the sound booth.

(Here and  _only_  here.)

By the seventh take, though, it gets a little boring. It normally wouldn't be, but they're used to their little "team" being present. Of switching scenes up every few takes and getting up to shenanigans in the background, and the endless mocking that follows every unintentional slip of the tongue—as well as the genuine laughter after every  _intentional_  joke.

The room feels empty with just the two of them, however well things might be going.

"Can we just do the kissing scene?" Artemis asks after the fifth time Wally's made a bad pun while reading the same line. "This is the opposite of productive."

He checks his phone again for new messages. "I don't see  _you_  making much effort to make it fun."

Kaldur looks back and forth between the two of them. "I agree with Artemis."

Wally puts his cell away and rubs his hands together. " _Nice_. Oh, wait," he says, wincing, "were we supposed to bring our own fruit? For the kissing? 'Cause I kinda... ate all the ones I brought with me today."

"Was there ever a chance you wouldn't?" Artemis snorts right before her phone rings.

"Shut up," he mutters, knowing she won't hear. "Hey! Hey!" he yells. "Is that Megan?"

The blonde waves him impatiently away. "Yeah, what is it?" she says into the device

His arms go up in protest. "Dude!"

When he won't stop pestering her with his gestures, Artemis turns her back to him and starts whispering to whoever's on the other end.

Wally pouts and plays with the cuffs of his shirt. "So, Kal, what's the protocol here? Fruit or hand?"

Kaldur descends back into his office to look something over. "Go to Artemis' microphone, Wallace."

Wally's eyebrows gather and he taps the wired metal of his own experimentally. The piercing sound that follows makes them all flinch and the blonde's phone slips through her fingers; she shoots him a death glare over her shoulder once she's picked it up.

"Mine works  _just fine_ ," he mutters quietly.

"Wally." Kaldur nods toward Artemis with slight irritation in his brow as he continues gathering documents, visible through the glass window.

"Okay, okay," Wally says with a shrug and struts over to Artemis, hands stuffed in his pockets. Kaldur's the boss. Who knows  _what_  he's thinking half the time.

The redhead clicks his tongue when he's two steps away from her and blows air out of his cheeks as he waits for further instructions. She mutters a few more indecipherable things under her breath—is that Vietnamese? is she talking to her sister?—before hanging up.

She jolts and then frowns after turning back around and finding him there. So close.

Still a good healthy personal space away, granted, but so much closer than usual. She crosses her arms, shoulders hunched.

"What are you doing?" she asks, almost offended.

It's so much easier to ignore how hot West is when he's all the way across the room and not showing off his perfect red hair right there. This is borderline rude is what it is.

"Beats me," Wally answers and looks to Kaldur, who's finally just about to put his documents down.

"Are you ready?" he asks.

"Uh.  _No_ ," Wally says, "What are we supposed to do and why am I here?"

"Now might not be the time for existentialist questions," Artemis points out.

"I am not sure how to answer this question," Kaldur says. "You're in a moderately dark room, have just saved the world and very nearly escaped the clutches of death; months of underlying tension finally culminate in your conscious acknowledging feelings for each other. Is that better, Wallace?"

"No." Wally crosses his arms. Kaldur raises an eyebrow. "No, I mean, great set-up and everything, but that's it? I already knew all that." He shrugs. "What I don't get is why I have to be on  _this_  side of the room, next to  _her_ , when my mike works just f—"

His eyes bulge. His heart stops.

"O- _Oh_."

Red creeps up his neck and his mouth turns tight, and he glances at her, barely breathing.

She cautiously looks up at him, eyes wary.

What she sees in his makes her arms fall limply to her sides.

Artemis' throat dries.

He visibly gulps.

Her mouth opens and closes and there's a distinct lack of sound coming from it, but her eyes stay fixed and unblinking on Wally, whose face must have been mirroring her own. The barely discernible twitch of the eyebrow, the sporadic blinking, the involuntary flaring of the nose.

Yeah. For once they're on the same page. Only she has no idea what's written on it.

"Y-you want—," Artemis starts, acutely aware of how close their arms hang.

She watches the red creeping up his face finally reach his hairline.

There's a vein pulsing on his neck and, for a brief moment, she imagines her lips pressing down on it, hard enough for it to never misbehave again.

"I—, w—, m—," she tries again. "Uh, bu—."

Finally, she sucks in a breath, squeezes her lips tightly shut, and turns to Kaldur, whose eyes shift between the two of them.

That's better. At least she can think now, no longer seeing only combinations of red and green.

"You want me to…" She makes a vague, non committal gesture somewhere in the air. "With him? As in, the actual thing?" Blood leaves her face in swarms. "The, the…  _kissing_  thing?"

Please let it be a joke.

"It was in the last memo I sent," Kaldur replies, confused.

"I beg to  _differ_ ," Wally chokes out at last, voice high and squeaky. He'll be embarrassed about it. Sometime in the future that is far, far away from the present.

"Yeah, me too," she manages weakly, keeping her attention on Kaldur. "With the differing."

The moment she glances back at the redhead, something will happen. No clue what, but  _something_  will and she can't let it. Whatever it is.

Kal puts his glasses on again and goes back into his office to dig for something with a frown. It takes far longer than it should, considering how meticulously organized he usually is, but the stack of papers really does look huge.

Almost as big as she wishes the space between her and Wally were right now.

"Here; paragraph three," the man says at last and hands them a file, still wet with green highlights.

The two actors reach for it at the same time and flinch as their fingers bump together. Wally clears his throat and so does she, and they both avoid looking at each other expectantly, and finally Kal shoves the thing under their faces; first one, then the other.

The redhead swallows loudly as his eyes scan it. "Well. Huh. Would you look at that."

"That  _does_  seem to be an important memo," Artemis agrees, arms crossed. "Wonder why we didn't… see... it."

"It is fine of you to not notice," Kaldur says, putting the papers away. "Do not worry about this. I only wish to proceed in a professional manner. Is that acceptable?"

The blonde scratches the back of her neck and, in doing so, accidentally moves her head in a way that makes her gaze lock with Wally's for a brief moment. She swears she sees him gauge her reaction right then and, wow, no way is she gonna admit that the idea of kissing him bothers her for reasons that don't seem to be "because ew gross".

There's really no conceivable explanation for this hesitance. Why would doing what actors so often do bother her? Seriously. She's just imagining things. Right?

She bites the nail of her thumb when they break eye contact again and then shrugs as easily as she can manage. "Sure. Acceptable."

Wally runs his tongue over his teeth, glancing sideways at her. "Yeah. Totes fine."

Kaldur nods, clueless as ever, and, with jerky movements, the two of them turn to each other, forced smiles plastered onto their faces.

They fiddle with the microphone, taking far too much time to get it precisely the right height and recoiling whenever their fingers touch. When their feet are positioned exactly perfect, they shift their weight from one to the other with tight, soundless mouths, looking for anything else to fuss over.

Anything to postpone what comes next.

Artemis' hand ends up brushing her hair out of her face. She needs her vision for this, right? To see that she doesn't… accidentally bite his nose off or something. Or would it be better if she couldn't see him (and his chiseled jaw) at all? That way this would have a slightly higher chance of being a dream. Or a morphine-induced hallucination.

Where did Kaldur go? Oh, great, he's with his documents again. Maybe it's better that way. Less people to embarrass herself in front of. Except for that little tidbit where the only person left is generally the most likely to give her grief about it. Sigh.

"We're professionals," she says, trying to convince herself.

Wally's head flies up and his eyebrows make gestures that remind her of a puppy. "No, yeah," he agrees, adjusting his collar. "This is super normal. And everything." He pulls out his phone under the pretense of turning it off but, really, he's just stalling. "Uh." He clears his throat.

She smooths out her hoodie and glances at the script one more time, and tries to ignore the red shade presently prominent on his ears. But he's so close that all any of her senses can detect is him and, if her attention can't be focused on his flush skin, then it inevitably falls on the sound of his rapid breath or the freckles on his right hand. She won't look into his eyes, won't think about touching him or—god forbid—tasting him, but her nose recognizes the cinnamony lemon smell that always reminds her of sunshine and that's a little easier to deal with.

Granted, it also drives her crazy.

She has it on good authority that he's never worn cologne in his life and every time detects the scent, he's wearing different clothes, eating different foods, enjoying different activities—probably even in the company of a bunch of different sets of people. And  _still_  there's no discernible source to it (other than a general Wally-shape). Where does it come from?  _Why_  does the question bother her so much?  _How_  is the scent so pleasant?

(Because, really, she does like the mix of cinnamon and lemon. Even if right now it's a constant reminder that Wally is super. freaking.  _close_.)

(Which, admittedly, kind of ignores the fact that she is equally as close to  _him_. A fact she doesn't like much better.)

Wally exhales and tries not to think about the hairs standing up on his forearm.

But then his eyes land on a sheen of newly-formed sweat in the dip between Artemis' collarbones and his mouth dries instantly. Has her skin always looked that smooth and bronzed and…  _strong_? The sight knocks breath out of his chest and he fumbles in his pockets just to have an excuse for tearing his eyes away from that dangerous view.

"Mints?" he stammers out, barely loud enough to hear

Artemis flinches as if alarmed.

With a cautious bite of her lower lip, she holds her hand out. "Thanks." He pours a few into it, careful to never make skin contact, and she resumes gnawing on the soft flesh as the peppermint spreads briskly over her tongue.

Once or twice, her teeth pull off a stray piece of skin—something they have a habit of doing in the winter months, when she can't be bothered to apply chapstick every freaking time she goes outside—and the woman remembers only too late that she needs her mouth to be in perfect condition if they're gonna do this.

If Wally's gonna… kiss her.  _Kiss_. She nearly chokes on what's left of the white candy.

Luckily, the man in question doesn't notice.

He's too busy sucking on his own mint and wincing at the thundering crash it makes as his teeth accidentally snap it in half. Shoot. What if he chipped a tooth? Oh, god, what if what he just swallowed was a piece of bone he's never gonna get back? What if her tongue catches on it and starts bleeding?! What if he  _cuts her tongue off with his stupid, sharp teeth and she can never talk again?_

Wait. Wait, wait, wait, hold on. Just slow down, Wallace.

You're assuming that her tongue would, for whatever reason, be in the vicinity of your hypothetically chipped tooth. Obviously,  _that's_  not happening.

Which is good and a relief. He exhales as quietly as he can. That's good.

His forehead puckers just so. What if it  _did_ , though? What if they end up…?

Images of her in his arms—his fingers weaving through her hair, their lips glued together—flood his mind and a sharp, blazing red surges up his spine. His heart speeds up and it's the first time he can't immediately identify the source of it as plain nerves.

But. But. No. There's not gonna be any tongue or touching, or  _anything_  of the personal persuasion.

_Right?_

They're not gonna be  _kissing_. They're just. Uh. Making out for a part. Less enthusiastically than that word choice implies. Nothing more.

...Except he's never had to kiss anyone for a job And this is  _Artemis_  we're talking about. And it's not just a  _job_. Their little team started being a family the moment all of them stepped into the same room. Oh, man, if he embarrasses himself right now, he'll never hear the end of it. Unless Artemis messes up equally as bad.

Which is… a possibility.  _Yes._  Mutual blackmail. Nobody outside this room would ever have to know. Except Kaldur.

He wouldn't say anything, though. He's good like that.

Or  _would_  he?

That's a... thought. Note to self: get blackmail fodder on Kal. Or, y'know,  _remember how to freaking kiss, Wallace._ You're  _good_  at it. You've been told that many times.

Artemis watches the play of expressions on his face with little interest, sure her own mirrors it. She's much more captivated by his eyes. When did they get so green? Sure, she doesn't really go up to him and stare at his face all that often, but there's specks of yellow in there and things that look like mountains and stuff, and it's kind of weirding her out, if she's being honest.

Just then, his gaze flicks back to her and an electric current runs through her, and, wow, is there an inconspicuous way she could check her pulse right now?

"Let's get this show on the road," he says in a weak attempt at feigning casualness. His palms raise cautiously—he just can't take the tension anymore—and they're almost level with his neck before he realizes that he has nowhere to put them.

Uh. Hips? No, that's too intimate. Waist? No, too romantic.

(What a feeling it would be to pull Artemis against him, though—bodies pressed close and held there by fingers fisting in their clothes, the ends of her blond curls tickling his palms.)

He settles on her shoulders while his brain tries to erase those last few thoughts from existence. Yeah, shoulders. That's nice and… strangely formal, he muses once his hands have actually been there for a few moments. Like a reversed slow dance, except worse because she's close enough that his arms have to bend at the elbows. It's kind of awkward, actually.

But, then, what else could you expect from this encounter? Anything  _but_  awkward? Come on. This is him and Artemis, after all.

"Anything but awkward" is off the table.

Artemis follows suit and, steeling her jaw, raises her arms. Her brain seems to overload trying to decide whether to go for the shoulders or around the neck, and they end up on a strange middle ground, and she winces at herself. But it  _does_  make her notice how wide his shoulders are. And... muscly.

Where did all those muscles come from? Doesn't Wally West spend most of his time sitting around and running his mouth?

There's heat under her fingertips. It's not like she thought he'd be be cold and lifeless to the touch, but he's still so… hot. Temperature-wise.

(And, okay, Artemis admitted to herself long ago that his cheekbones are very symmetrical and pleasing to the eye. Sue her for seeing handsome where it obviously exists.)

Man, this is taking forever and still not long enough. Is Kaldur even still in the room? She had half-expected him to just press their heads together once all this went on for longer than two minutes, but here they are. Still apart.

She supposes he must have understood the trial that getting started is for them. They'll get the audio they need to; they always do and this will be no exception. It's all going to be fine once they get into it— uh, she means, get it goin— no, uh, y'know, once they've gotten over the initial... THIS. It just needs some preparation.

That's all she's saying. Or, well, thinking. There's not a whole lot of sound coming from her at the moment.

Her gaze remains fixed to lips. His pink, thin, slightly chapped in the winter cold, adorned with light freckles lips that she's only associated with the dumb things he says; never with a racing heart stuck in her throat.

Seriously, though, where did he get all his muscles from? She should ask him about them sometime, she thinks right before he leans closer. Then a little closer and closer still, but not all the way. She stops breathing. Is time slowing down or is he just dragging this out? Whichever way, she instantly catches the moment he starts to pull back. He does it slowly enough that he almost hasn't moved at all, but it still makes her stomach climb halfway up to her chest.

He hesitates there, leaning halfway toward her with eyes glued to her lips. She wets them on instinct and finds, with more than a little surprise, that she can feel his breath on them. It almost tickles. Almost makes her forget that he's just a few inches away and throw her head back with senseless laughter.

He used to be a runner, didn't he? Artemis vaguely remembers hearing something about a high school state champion. Back before the two of them collectively decided that sharing their personal lives would just be ammo for the other's merciless mockery.

Yeah, he was a runner. Definitely. But don't runners have leaner physiques than the steel under her fingers? And why did he quit?

….Wait,  _did_  he quit?

Is it possible that he's still entering championships or running weekly marathons and she just never bothered to find out?

Her fingers tighten on his shoulders.

Wally leans closer and pulls back, and leans closer, and pulls back, and straightens when  _she's_  the one who leans closer and then pulls back, and both of them keep almost getting there (but not really) for what feels pretty close to eternity. It passes by, one moment at a time, and after an undisclosed amount of seconds—which is probably much fewer than either of them thinks—they both realize their faces are still apart.

Not that you can blame them, really. It's just… weird. The idea is weird.

It wasn't weird when Conner and Megan started dating.

It wasn't weird when they found out Dick and Zatanna had been sneaking around behind their backs for two months.

(It wasn't weird when Zatanna managed to hit on every single person in their group within the span of one evening.)

(And kiss five of them.)

It wasn't weird when they all attended Kaldur's wedding five months ago and nobody had a date, and group shenanigans ensued.

It's  _never_  weird, Artemis thinks. So why does it feel like that  _now_? Because, what, nobody among those examples had to play a budding romance between their characters for months on end?

Whatever, brain. Stop overanalyzing things. It is what it is.

Wally blinks and it lasts just a fraction of a second longer than it usually does, but that extra reaction time is enough for Artemis to decide that she's had enough of every cell in her being pulsating with anticipation (of how horrible it's going to be because what else could she be expecting) and she lunges forward.

The woman keeps going blindly until her skin connects with his, fingers digging into the shoulders beneath them that her strength propelled forward. It's not exactly the quick, spontaneous kiss she'd hoped for, though. Her nose rammed into Wally's and his eyes burst open, and she's pretty sure he's still stifling a yelp. Far from the ideal fairy tale scenario.

Y'know, not that this dork has anything to do with fairy tales.

Their noses are still meshed together in an awkward enough way that Wally hasn't even noticed yet that they're touching in other places, but, as soon as he stumbles half a step backward and thus adjusts the angle of his face, the unpleasant feeling retreats and makes way for the realization that there's something warm, soft, and…  _nice_  on his lips.

What is th—?

Oh. That's Artemis. Just Artemis. Just the last thing he'd ever expected to find on hi—

She moves against him, warm and slick on his skin, and all coherency flies out Wally's ear. His hands drop lower, to the tops of her arms. Their bareness still makes him shiver, but differently than last time.

There's electricity in them now instead of frost.

She makes a sound—the tiniest, quietest sound that he might not even be hearing, just feeling in the vibrations of her flesh—and something comes loose between them. He pulls her closer, mouth moving in unison with hers, and his eyes drift shut, and one of his palms travels to her lower back, and  _none_  of it happens because the script demands it.

Her arms snake around his neck and fingers grab onto the green collar, dragging his face lower and closer, and her head tilts, and she doesn't flinch away when their cheeks brush, and that maddening scent of his has wiped all memories of any script from her mind.

His other fingers cup the back of her head along with her glorious hair, tightening there when their tongues touch—whether on purpose or not, neither knows nor cares about—and, barely even noticing she's doing it, Artemis rises up on her toes and curves her spine to press into him. Wally's teeth just barely graze her lip and she hopes,  _hopes_  that he'll bite in as his palms ignite fires and tingles all over her back.

She vaguely hears something that isn't silence coming from both of them, but she's too busy trying to grab onto those freakishly short red straws he calls his hair to listen to what it actually is. They'll get the audio they need doing… whatever this is—which is definitely  _not_  making out—and never mention it again, and didn't she  _know_  it would be okay once they got into i—?

Uh, she means—

Eh, forget it; even  _she's_  not that dense, Artemis admits with a swipe over his lower lip. This is veeery much "getting into it" and she can't find it in herself to care.

He does finally catch her lip between his teeth and pull on it—with a grunt she can only describe as sexy—and, of course, that is exactly when the team walks in on them.

The two of them. With limbs tangled, tongues twisted, breath mingling; making enough sound for an entire season's worth of kissing and holding each other ten times than anyone's ever seen them.

Someone clears their throat loudly.

Wally's the first one to yank back, face scarlet and mouth swollen. His head pulls Artemis—whose fingers still hold fistfuls of hair between them—forward a bit before she has the good sense to untangle herself from him too and, with a gasp, she steadies herself two paces away, certain there's something she should be saying.

That "something" is, of course, how this was purely a work-related thing that nobody should make a big deal about, but both Wally and Artemis stand there staring at their team like a couple of teenagers—wide-eyed, panting, slightly feverish, and trying to remember how they got here in the first place—for quite a bit of time before the idea of saying anything to that effect occurs to either of them.

Kaldur's the one who saves them. "Where have you all been?" he asks, stepping closer.

"Flooding on sixth," Megan says absentmindedly. "The storm took out the lights and reception in a whole block. What's… happening here?" Her eyes run over Wally' crooked clothing, which he immediately fixes.

"They were working," Kaldur says simply. "Quite well, before you interrupted."

" _Yes_ ," Wally says immediately with a chuckle of relief. "Working. That is what was happening." He briefly glances at his partner in crime. "We were. Working.  _Right_... Artemis?"

"'Course. What else would we be doing?" She shrugs so casually it almost looks natural. "Not my  _ideal_  way to spend a Friday night—"

"Yeah, it was awful," Wally agrees, too quick. "But, hey, orders. Whatcha gonna do."

Her nod has a slightly fidgety quality to it. "Mmhmm."

"So you're telling me that that was... work?" Dick asks with a smirk.

Wally crosses his arms and bites the inside of his cheek. "Of course. See, Wanda and Arthur are, like, super attracted to each other," he says. "And kinda horny. So, being the good actors we  _are_ , we tried to. Uh."

"Act," Artemis offers, gesturing with her fingers. "We're good at that, you know. And then you… interrupted us."

" _Shame_  on you," Wally adds immediately and stuffs his fists into his pockets.

Artemis folds her lips inward to hide a grin. "Shouldn't the… shouldn't the door be locked… Kaldur?"

The man looks up as if woken from deep sleep. "Yes. That was an oversight on my part. I apologize. Oh, the recorder's still on. Pardon." With that, he departs to fiddle with whatever it is exactly that Kaldur likes fiddling with.

Artemis sits down on her chair with hunched shoulders as the team gathers in, and downs about half a gallon of water before they're done undressing. Wally watches from the corner of his eye, ready to help her if she chokes but also certain that he doesn't want to be looking at her right just now.

"So. Season finale," Dick says, rubbing his palms together after taking his bedazzled gloves off. "Who's  _ready_?"

Zatanna cheers and Megan joins in as they take their seats and review scripts.

"Yes, season finale," Kaldur says. "But we should do a few more takes, Wally, Artemis. With dialogue this time. While the rest get ready."

"Oh." The blonde clicks her tongue. The one that still has Wally's taste on it, despite how much water she tried to drown it with. "Yeah."

"Why not," the redhead says with a forced shrug, mental wheels turning to provide an actual answer.

He catches her gaze—half by accident—and just knows she's doing the same.

But an answer doesn't present itself to either of them despite the fact that one probably exists, and they both take their positions in front of the microphone, feet planted awkwardly on the carpet below.

This time there's no physical contact. No leaning forward and pulling back. No racing pulses for reasons they can't explain.

This time, everyone stares at them with barely squinted eyes just waiting to catch them in the act of  _not_  acting, and the unsettling knowledge that a few minutes ago they would have kind of succeeded won't stop bugging either of them.

 _This time_... This time, it actually  _doesn't_  go well.

But they're actors and professionals—and halfway respectable people—and they suck it up. And when they've run through the scene a few times, that annoying feeling of flutters in the stomach has subsided enough to make way for mild discomfort.

Which is, y'know, good. The discomfort. It's actually comfortable in its non-fluttery-ness. 'Cause that other thing was a fluke. Some weird error in their programming

Thank God  _that's_  over. Otherwise… could you imagine?

(Yeah. They can; both of them. That's the problem.)

Megan exchanges a glance with Dick when they're done before getting up to do her first scene with Raquel, but that's all the abnormal Wally notices over the course of the evening among their teammates. A hushed whisper here or there notwithstanding. Hushed whispers don't count. That look from Dick…  _That one_  counts. But that's not a team thing. That's a best friend thing he'll deal with in private.

He takes his usual seat as far away from Artemis as the room allows, and spends the majority of the evening torn between avoiding her gaze and wishing she were just a little bit closer.

Later, when they're celebrating the season finale at a nearby diner that's become a second home to all, Artemis shares her third helping of fries with anyone who'll take them because she's—as always—miscalculated the capacity of her stomach, Wally makes a jab about how much extra hot sauce she slathers on the poor potato sticks, "fully aware, by the way, that you're not gonna finish the whole plate, Miss This-Has-Happened-The-Last-Seven-Weeks-In-A-Row—and yes, I counted, thank you very much", right before Zatanna swats his hand away and pulls the plate to her side of the table with lusty eyes, and everything's back to normal.

Except it's not.

Oh, sure, they continue working together and attend the group hangouts and—because this team's a legitimate family of friends for life—enjoy every minute of them. Unless those minutes happen to involve sitting far, far away from each other and wondering if it's  _too_  far to go unnoticed or idly fantasizing what it would be like if they sat in the same booth together for once.

Unless they involve Zee very obviously trying to get them both to participate in a single thread of conversation while shushing everyone else. Unless they involve Wally and Artemis exchanging banter without a single thought to what is said before catching Kaldur's frown and realizing that the insults have gotten a lot more vitriolic than they used to be.

Unless they involve the same thing happening two weeks later, only this time Raquel's puckered brow alerts them to how much the frequency and acerbity of the banter has decreased. Nearly died down altogether, in fact, to the point they can carry on a conversation like normal people. Normal, boring people. Unless both of them struggle to find ways to avoid each other without the others catching on and  _still_  end up recalling the feel of bodies pressed close, lips tangled, hearts rac— NO. No, no, no. This train of thought gets cut off immediately. It's a rabbit hole. A very  _bad_  rabbit hole.

Yeah. Those minutes aren't so much fun.

But, like anything unpleasant, they get used to it. And life goes on. And they never, ever talk about it.

It's not like either of them are under the impression that  _that_ —whatever it was—had any possibility of being one-sided. (Whatever the contents of that side actually are.) They're not  _that_  oblivious. It's just inconvenient, mostly. Like... being attracted to a fictional character that also happens to be animated and to not exist in any way, shape, or form in real life. The question is: " _...Why?_  How is this, in  _any_  way, a thing that needed to happen to me?"

(With a side of exaggerated groaning and frustratingly bewildered raising of arms in the general direction of whomever's responsible. Which, in this case, is the ceiling because why go through life without being the make-belief protagonist of a campy dramedy?)

Point is. It happened. So what?

At least, that's the attitude Artemis has until weeks later, when they're together for the first alone time Arthur and Wanda have had since the finale, and they're playing two people in love—the kind that songs don't get written about, yet it still  _lasts_ —and the scene comes and goes, and there is no kiss.

That's the attitude Artemis has until something pricks her insides at this development—cell by cell until her entire being itches in places she can't reach—and bears a striking resemblance to disappointment.

Hours later, she gathers her things from the nearly empty booth at Bibbo's—which now bears little evidence of their shenanigans, unlike the sight that would've greeted anyone five minutes earlier—nearly strangles herself with her scarf, accompanied by a passing thought that maybe Zee was right in demanding she burn the thing, and finally stumbles out into the blissfully dark and numbing cold. At least now she can focus on the hairs of her nose freezing to each other instead of how much she apparently looked forward to tonight for reasons that had nothing to do with Conner and Dick finally settling their drawn-out dispute over who can stuff more chicken wings into their mouth.

The mist of her breath flies white up to the sky and her boots cling sturdy to the ice below them, and the first thing she's gonna do when she gets home is take a bath so hot it'll purge all desire of Wallace Rudolph West out of her system. There  _has_  to be a temperature high enough to do that.

But, what do you know, as she makes her way idly over the sidewalk with little attention paid to nearby traffic or even the pedestrians passing her by, there's one thing she can't miss—how there's a tall, trapper-hat-clad figure she's been kind of trailing since coming out of the diner. A figure that seems to be getting closer with every block.

Artemis' eyes narrow. Is she speeding  _up_  or is he slowing  _down_?

Whichever way, he's just barely fifteen paces in front of her when she's halfway home and, with a sigh—because they just  _had_  to live on the same street—she calls out to him.

The sound makes Wally whirl around on one foot, like he has a habit of doing. Except he's wearing his summer sneakers for some dumb reason she didn't bother to find out because she was too busy avoiding him, and the ice on the sidewalk is fresh, and it's really not a good combination for someone who moves faster than his brain can catch up to the plans of intentional movement.

The foot slips and the redhead yelps, and, by the time he's steadied himself and cautiously straightens, one of his headphones has stopped hitting him in the hip and now hangs limply down to his thigh.

His brow gradually smooths out from its alarmed state and a quick smile somehow appears on his mouth before he tightens his lips and asks himself what he heck they're doing, quirking up like that without his permission.

"Hi," he says and puts the headphones away, as well as his iPod. "Wow, that was embarrassing, but, hey, at least there's no buttprint in the snow."

"Points for you." Artemis takes a slow, lazy step forward, as if torn over whether to say hi and dash away or stay. And talk.

Why does every fiber of his being want her to stay?

He half-turns, trying to talk himself out of staying in case  _she_  does. "I, uh, didn't think you'd be walking," he says when she's only a few yards away.

She takes the final step, unaware that all of his attention is focused on what she'll do next, and halts next to the man, armed with hunched shoulders and cautious eyes. "Yeah, well, it's a nice night and I didn't wanna dig for my bus pass. So... why not?"

"Nice?" He looks to the distant skyline that reminds him of a scenario where a balloon is filled to the brim with snow and about to burst, just waiting to plop down on unsuspecting humans. "By  _whose_  definition, exactly?"

"Okay, then, Weather Police, why are  _you_  walking home?" she asks as they resume motion, side by side. Stiff as bricks.

"I—" Wally glances at her and, after realizing she's radiant, goes back to staring straight ahead, rubbing his gloved palms together. Stay away from that train of thought, Wallace. "I needed to clear my head."

"Ah." She snuggles into her coat. A part of her knows she should resist the urge, but she just can't help adding, "There's anything in there  _to_  clear?"

He shoots her a look of offended disbelief, complete with a gasp.

"Dude, come on," she says with a chortle. "You walked right into that one."

"Oh, did I?" He shakes his head, snorting quietly. "Fine, whatever you say."

Artemis looks at him with mischievous fire in her eyes. "Oh, believe me, I'll say a  _lot_  of things."

And then she remembers her scorching bath and the last few weeks of the ground seemingly starting to shake under her whenever he's in the room, and nothing more to add really comes to mind. What little of his expression she sees out of the corner of her eye suggests his thoughts lean in a similar direction. So the two of them turn their attention to things that aren't each other's coldly flushing form moving beside them and simply march on.

They trudge through the heaping piles of white hills going up to their ankles—to their knees in some of the less-used walkways—trying to avoid sludge while mountains taller than either of them coat the walls of buildings hugging either side of the pavement.

Street after street, they pass the strangest assortment of people—some seemingly prepared for the blizzard of the century; some dressed in the lightest of jackets; some even talking about having a picnic next week, as if it were April and not the middle of December—who lessen in numbers the farther they venture away from downtown and toward the few blocks made up entirely of residential buildings.

"So," he mutters when she's stepped into a muddy salt puddle and made heads turn with her colorful—if slightly Vietnamese—expletives for the third time. "Uh. Dick snapping the wishbone with his tongue. That was fun."

Artemis claps the heel of her boot against the ground to get the dirt off. "Uhhhhh-huh."

Her lips tighten and she pushes her fists into the pockets of her coat.

The dark, narrow alley they go into a few seconds later is a hell of a shortcut—saves about fifteen minutes by foot—but it makes Wally let out a scream and skid to a halt when, about thirty yards into it, a block of snow falls from the twelve-floor building on its side and lands mere two feet from his head.

He nudges the pile with one toe to test the hardness and finds, with considerable relief, that it crumbles into powder at the slightest touch. (Instead of, y'know, being dense enough to flatten his skull against the ground in a nanosecond. It's kind of easier to ignore a near-death experience if it's not  _that_  deadly.)

Still, he makes it a point to walk straight down the middle of the brick path the whole way through, gaze glued to icicles hanging from the gutter.

"So," Artemis says when he's walked in front of her like a goddamn astronomer for three minutes. (She's spent the majority of them trying to think of better things to say, but none have come to mind.)

Instead, she looks at her feet, to the wet, mushy mass of muddy snow stuck not to her soles but to her vamps. She claps her heels down against the pavement again, as she has every two minutes this evening, and even removes her gloves to brush the persistent snow off without getting them all wet... and finally abandons all hope of saving these boots when thirty seconds later they are, once again, covered in salty, muddy snow up to the ankles.

Dammit, how does every single other person she's ever met avoid getting their socks drenched and leather ruined? Is there, like, some world-wide memo she never got about dealing with winter weather?

The blonde pulls her beanie lower over her ears and crosses her arms with a childish grimace at her boots. Fine, if they want to get broken and be replaced next season, that's totally up to them. It's not like she's specifically  _seeking out_  the puddles and snowbanks, and streets filled with foamy, half-melted mud. It just  _happens_.

Totally not her fault.

A stray snowflake lands on her nose. She scowls down at it and blows it off—or melts it; she's not exactly sure—with one single huff of breath.

Finally, they come out of the slightly claustrophobic snaking path and onto a real sidewalk filled with real actual people. (The two of them next to each other don't count. They're not  _people_. They're just Artemis and Wally.)

(Aliens, maybe. But definitely not "people".)

"So," he concludes, not quite sure whether the silence is better or not.

Slowly, Artemis nods along with empty eyes staring into the distance. What pretty lights await at the end of the street. Oh, if only they were already here and not far, far away...

Wally kicks a stone idly off the sidewalk, the flaps of his hat fluttering in the rising wind.

They walk.

And walk.

And walk.

And walk…

And it's only been a few minutes.

"So," she says almost automatically, lips barely moving.

He bursts out snorting.

Artemis halts instantly to look back at him with a pucker on her brow. He's covering his face with one gloved hand and the other softly clapping his knee, and he alternates between hanging his head to muffle the quakes rocking his body some more and guffawing out loud to the sky. She takes a quick glance around the street to see if there are any billboards with science puns that she had somehow missed.

There aren't.

Distracted by her search for the hilarity, the woman only barely manages to jolt away when a car drives by at alarming speeds and nearly stains her white pants with mud. She halfway expects him to freeze in place and discard his laughter in favor of some quip about the ungraceful—and more than a little uncharacteristic—pose she's found herself in as a result, but he doesn't even seem to have noticed the ordeal.

Okay, seriously.  _What_  is so funny?

She crosses her arms and taps her feet at him until, finally, he links his fingers and stretches up high with a satisfied sigh, a tiny sliver of abdomen showing under his jacket. (Which she pretends not to notice because that is totally not a ginger happy trail and it  _absolutely_  doesn't make her want to see where it leads.)

"Wow, uh," he says, blinking rapidly and with exaggeration. "Sorry, I was just imagining the—" He snorts again and tugs his crooked hat down over his eyes.

Her eyes narrow. "Yes?" she prompts.

Wally shakes his head almost imperceptibly and looks up with an amused grin. "Is this how it's gonna be from now on?" He gestures with one hand. "Like, what, we can't even carry a conversation of  _insults_  anymore?"

 _That's_  what this is about?

Wow, talk about anticlimactic.

"Whatever has the world come to," Artemis deadpans as he urges her to keep walking. Still, he may have a point. "I mean," she says as they resume movement, "it's not like  _all_  we do is fight. We're a… constant source of entertainment for our friends and pretty damn good partners in the booth. But at some point you just gotta face it and admit that we don't really have all that much in common."

He makes a sound with his teeth, wrestling with himself whether or not to broach the subject. "You mean other than that thing that happened that we never talked about?" he says, unable to help himself. And adds: "That we probably  _should_  talk about?"

She snaps her eyes shut. "Yes. Other than  _that thing_." Her lips form around the words very precisely. " _Obviously_."

"Oh, good," he says, nodding nervously, "'cause I thought you might've forgotten that very important thing that happened." He stuffs his fists into the pockets of his parka and does his best to avoid slippery ice.

Her palm just barely doesn't travel to her forehead. " _Wally_."

"I'm just saying," he defends with a slightly squeaky voice and a shrug, "there's some U-S-not-of-America Tension going on here tha—"

She squints, confused. "What?"

He whirls around in his tracks and starts walking backwards to look at her, train of thought forgotten. " _What_  'what'?"

"The thing you just said." She scratches her forearm with undecided movements. "Was I supposed to understand what that meant?"

"Oh.  _Uh_." He clears his throat. "Unresolved Sexual Tension. UST. And USA. Get it?" He flashes a weak smile that fades as quickly as it appeared and takes the strength of his voice with it. "It's a… pun."

Artemis nods slowly. "Ah."

"Yeah."

"Got it."

He bites his lip and resumes walking normally. "Good. Okay, so, uh, as I was saying—I  _think_ —"

"You  _think_?"

"Yes, Artemis, you interrupted my brilliant flow of ideas; what did you think was gonna happen?"

She tightens her lips in surrender. "I honestly don't know."

"Give me a call when you figure it out, then." He taps her on the shoulder casually. "In the meantime, I'm fairly certain my point was that the…  _chemistry_  thing in this area right here—" he broadly gestures between them "—is kind of unstable and unpredictable, and my extensive knowledge of all things sciency tells me it's  _probably_  gonna either get resolved or go boom at some point the near future, and I don't know about  _you_  and  _your_  preferences, but  _I_  would much rather resolve that tension on our  _own_  terms before either of us loses an eyebrow or somethi—"

The man cuts off and freezes as the possible interpretation of his words sinks in.

He's stopped dead in his tracks when half-turning toward her. "I didn't mean—" And then his mouth just flaps.

Wow, great way to start and end the conversation, Wallace.

He curses under his breath. "I meant, uh— I wasn't— I'm not hitting on you," he clarifies, face rapidly turning pink. "Or otherwise behaving in an unprofessional and inappropriate manner."

His lips are tight and the flush overpowers his freckles, and it takes all the self-control she possesses to keep her face devoid of any emotion. 'Cause there it is again.

Disappointment, making its way through her with tiny, tiny claws.

"Didn't think you were," she says easily with an eyeroll and it somehow still manages to be the truth. Dammit, Artemis, just figure out what the hell you want already. "I know what you meant," she adds quietly, not looking at him.

This time, her voice betrays her. Or, at least, she thinks it does, by the way he looks at her. Half-embarrassed, half-hopeful.

Fully guarded.

"I just, I didn't—"

He groans and rubs his forehead as they head to their respective homes once more.

"It's not like it—" he says, grimacing. "Like the idea of you and me, and beds never  _crossed my mind_ , if that's what you're thinki—" He huffs and sighs. His boot shuffles the snow under it in a frustrated kick.

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye.

"By which I mean not that I'm assuming that  _you've_ thought abou—" He makes gestures with his hands, then casts his eyes to heavens for guidance.

Artemis suddenly has to resist the urge to laugh. What a  _dork_.

"I mean, we're just—" he gulps "—y'know,  _us_  and it's kind of…" He winces. "Sort of... um—" He wets his lips. "It's like… peanut butter on a hamburger, okay? The idea would never  _occur_  to you on its own and it  _seems_  gross when you first think about it, but, when it's four in the morning and you're standing in your underpants in front of an empty fridge, still half-drunk from the night before, and  _then_  try it, it's really not so—"

Some car honks loudly far away.

"Oh,  _god_ , just shut me up already," he pleads to the sky and stiffens when Artemis does just that. It takes just one quick step forward for her lips to land on his. To press and twist, and take what she wants—whatever that might be.

But it's not to shut him up, not really; that's just the excuse she gives herself to refuse admitting that he's ignited a fire within her, one that she's sick of keeping cooped up. The impulse is ridiculous and stupid, and she'll probably wish she'd never given in as soon as this is over, but she  _can't_  not do it.

Even when panic overwhelms her right before she takes that one step, she can't  _not_  kiss him right just now.

And then, the same as last time, all the doubts and unease disappear as soon as their skin makes contact. His cold breath sweeps them away from her mouth and her own hands brush them off his shoulders, and all that's left is desire, running rampant through her veins.

He responds with an enthusiasm that almost makes her lose balance on the slippery asphalt and her heart leaps; every last seed she feared might grow into regret is knocked out of her by the fervor with which his arms wrap around her, by the soft warmth of his lips and the strength of his legs—which stand steady and upright even when she tries her damndest to knock him down with her haste—by the misty fog rising up from their combined breathing.

By the way he moves as if he were as starved as she was a moment ago.

His skin freezes her cheek and hers reciprocates the sensation, but together they heat up and, before long, even her neglected fingertips don't send shivers through her arms anymore.

An endless stream of people walk by on this pavement glistening with winter beauty, where headlights illuminate their various paths—right under a pink neon sign with a snowflake on it. Artemis and Wally pay them no mind, indulging in their thing like they'll never get the chance again, but, still, they jump apart when someone neither of them catch walking by mutters "get a room" under their breath.

Her cheeks flame as she turns away with a flip of her hair and hands on hips.  _Ohhhhhh_  wow. Regret, schmegret—she's over that by now—but this  _might_  not have been the brightest idea if she wanted to keep this whole "attracted to Wally West" thing in check. She drags a palm over her swollen lips and wills her heart to be steady.

Nothing but a fluke. Well, a second fluke. But a fluke nonetheless. They're just gonna continue walking like nothing ever happened.

Yeah, that's what's gonna happen. Just keep walking, Artemis, and never speak of this again.

But when she turns back to him with a silent plea in her throat, his eyes keep her feet glued in place.

Intense, green irises stare back at Artemis, penetrating and less clouded than they've ever been. Moonlight illuminates his face and there's something clearly spelled out in his parted lips, his drawn brow, those damned eyes that seem to cut right through all the pretenses right now.

So clearly spelled out, letter by gorgeous letter. Except she can't quite remember how to read.

Snow's started up again and a small whirl of puffy flakes fly in every direction around them, catching on every surface not rude enough to send them away, which seems to include the top of Wally's sweater right at the back of his neck. They melt against his skin and frost bites at his cheeks, and, truthfully, he wouldn't be surprised if one or two of his freckles just decided to fall off from this pressure in the air, but he can't feel any of the cold as long as she's here, it seems.

There's just heat.

He keeps his gaze on her face—the eyes sparkling with life, the skin set aflame by his own body yet staying remarkably smooth and glossy, the button nose the blonde is just as capable of hoisting up in the air as lowering down below in humility—and, for the first time, Wally realizes just how breathtakingly, mindblowingly  _beautiful_  she is.

Without a single coherent thought, he steps closer.

"Artemis," he whispers, voice hoarse and catching on the last letter.

She inhales deeply without thinking and feels the cold spread in her throat. "I…"

Wally takes another step toward her, now close enough to touch her gloved hand. He just barely grazes it, really, but he could still swear a jolt ran through him. Her gaze falters for a fraction of a second, but remains intently on him.

Is this the first time they've ever…  _looked_  at each other?

The redhead swallows, the sound crashing and drumming in his throat, and links their fingers lightly. Down below, where neither can see, but merely knowing that it's happening sets his entire insides afloat anyway.

Her eyelids lower just so and, by the time he figures out what she's focused on  _now_ , that part of him is already pressed lightly to her own.  _This_  kiss drags on without haste or even much fire, just a slow burn as their lips explore ways to fit together best.

And fit they do. Surprisingly well. Although the question of who, exactly, is feeling the surprise remains.

A hundred heartbeats later, he bites his own lip and lowers his forehead to rest against hers, his nerves aching with something bittersweet. Artemis inhales deeply and peeks up at him with the hint of a smile.

" _D'you wanna.._." Wally whispers an inch from her mouth and sighs softly through his nose. " _D'you wanna go get that room?_ "

It's a legitimate question—one she doubts is only aimed at her—and the blonde's eyes drift shut, brow furrowing, as she wrestles with herself.

It's Wally West touching her. The guy she's never been able to see eye to eye with on anything. The guy she's never actually had a seriously conversation with. The guy she's hung out with on a regular basis for two years yet barely knows anything about.

But it's  _Wally West_  with her here. The guy with a jaw so chiseled Michelangelo himself might as well have carved it, an ass she's daydreamed of squeezing on more than one occasion, and a tongue she's seen do freaking  _spectacular_  things—not to mention what she's only heard about from other people.

Still undecided, she experimentally lifts their joined hands, playing with his fingers to get the feel for them and buy more time. Her own are still warm in this cold, heated by exposure to his.

And, somehow, that's what does it. Who cares if this is likely to end in disaster? Getting a room  _once_  doesn't mean she's gonna grow old with the guy. And there's not really a friendship there that it could ruin. And, well, if she's being honest, the first time she laid eyes on him, getting him alone  _was_  the only thing on her mind.

Resolving some tension might not be such a bad idea.

So she silently removes herself from their half-embrace and leisurely leads him by their entwined hands down the sidewalk, shooting back exactly one look that says everything he needs to know. He follows a step behind in silence, legs barely working anymore.

Only for a minute or two, though, because that's when she stops in front of an apartment building he's never given a second thought to.

Artemis reaches into her purse in search of her keys, but a good while passes before she feels the clang of metal in her palm, somewhere in the midst of all those gum wrappers and little trinkets she likes to give random strangers to brighten their day.

"Need help with that?" he asks.

She halts momentarily. "I've got it, thanks."

He's almost on the verge of finding it adorable when he spots the concentration on her face, and he tips right over that edge when she suddenly can't remember which of the dozen or so keys on the chain unlocks the main entrance. It's a kind of innocent attraction that lights up as pure lust the moment he reaches out to steady her fumbling fingers and catches the dark gaze that lets him know just why the blonde's acting like she's drunk.

Then she jumps forward and he pulls her closer using their held hands and they end up making out on the steps to her building; if it weren't for another tenant walking out at a convenient time, they might have never made it upstairs at all, even with the chill

As it is, they stumble their way up the stairs to her fifth-floor apartment with mouths fused together and hands already eagerly acquainting themselves with zippers and buttons, and, somewhere between the third and fourth floor, he makes this sound that results in her almost taking him right then and there.

But they find willpower to keep going, up and up until he can finally let out a victory grin at spotting that shiny five on the wall.

The first thing to come in contact with the actual door of her apartment isn't a key or even a hand on the handle. No, it's Artemis' butt pressed into it with the kind of pressure that door-makers would probably be outraged about. One of her legs wraps around Wally's hips and he manages to take her scarf off between kisses without causing her a single grunt of frustration, and they don't even  _attempt_  to open the door for what could've been hours.

Which they probably should've taken as a sign, because the moment Wally steps in—mouth flush, shirt undone, shoes disposed of—and starts walking backwards to keep his eyes on her as she locks the door back up behind them, his right foot lands on a step the wrong way and he half-falls, half-collapses to the floor with a howl of pain.

Artemis whirls around. "Oh my god, what happened?" She races to his side.

Are those tears in his eyes?!

" _Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!_  Don't touch me." He props himself up slowly with a grimace and hisses out a few expletives when it changes the position of his feet. " _Ahhhhh_ , why didn't you  _warn_  me there would be level changes?"

"I'm sorry, I don't have a lot of new people over!" she says, not knowing what to do with her hands. "It slipped my mind. Are you okay?"

 _Stupid_  question. She regrets it immediately.

"I— _hhhhhhhhhhhhh_ — I think I sprained my ankle," he chokes out, wincing. "Help me up?"

She immediately winds an arm under his shoulders and supports his weight as he crouches and hops to her couch. Wally tenderly lifts his leg onto it and feels around with his fingers as she tries not to jostle the couch.

He looks like he knows what he's doing.

"Y-yep, definitely sprained," he says at last, "but— _ahh, ahhhhhh!_ —not broken, at least." He exhales and wills his heartbeat to slow the hell down. "Hurts like a mother, though."

"I'll, uh, get the ice, then," Artemis says and suddenly remembers she's still wearing her coat.

While she dashes from one end of her apartment to the other in search for ice, elastic bandages, tea, and who knows  _what_  else, the redhead sinks into the cushions and would bang his head against something solid if his ankle didn't already max out the amount of pain he could withstand.

 _Way_  to set the mood, Wallace.

She comes back a few minutes later and, together, they start tending to his sprain. Her movements are quick and methodical and he almost wants to ask her if she's ever had to do this kind of thing regularly.

Instead, he sucks in sharp breaths, tries to refrain from looking at the Artemis cleavage he stupidly exposed out in the hall before knowing nothing involving it would be happening this particular evening, and tries to help when he can because manners are manners no matter how much pain you're in. (Or how much your skin tingles when she wets her still pinkish lips.)

"Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall down on you like that," he says a while later when he's holding the ice pack in place as she fastens it to his ankle and the tension-filled silence is simply too much to bear.

Artemis chuckles once. "I don't think anyone ever does."

"You know what I mean." He smiles at her and then gasps at the pang of pain shooting through his leg. "This isn't… how I wanted this encounter to go."

"Oh, believe me, I noticed," she says with a wicked grin and a pointed look at his crotch.

He sputters and shifts self-consciously on the couch, adjusting the cushions.

"Me neither," Artemis mutters after a moment. "But maybe it wasn't meant to be."

"Maybe," he agrees and tugs his pantsleg down over the ankle. His palms clap against his thighs and he doubts the disappointment's even the least bit masked in his voice. "I should probably get home."

She shoots him one disbelieving glance. "Oh,  _no_  way, mister."

"Wh—" He frowns. "Why? I live, like, a hundred yards away!"

"Yeah, a hundred yards of ice you just barely avoided slipping on at least three times tonight alone," Artemis says and hands him a cup of tea from the coffee table. "Plus five floors down with no elevator and, correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't recall you ever mentioning living with metal bars over your windows. How many floors is it?"

He hangs his head, sips the tea, and has to physically force the words out. "...Four."

She nods with pity. "Yeah. You can't even flex your foot, dude;  _how_ , exactly, are you make that on your own?"

"Uh…."

Wally gives her a wide, hopeful grin.

"No," she says instantly. "I have one rule about winter: when I make it home and take my clothes off, they  _stay_  off until morning. Unless the entire world's ending."

"I dunno, you seem fully clothed to  _me_ ," he mutters, somewhat ruefully.

"See?" The blonde pats his knee. "My tea's helping you feel better already." She gets up and goes to the kitchen side of her open living room to scrounge up some ice cream. "You're staying here tonight; no buts. Now, do you want chocolate or vanilla?"

And it ends up not being so bad.

He props his feet on the back of the couch with his head hanging off the side and comments on everything he can see from this vantage point. After a brief debate over keeping him company, Artemis settles cross-legged on the other end in a comfortable T-shirt and provides backstory when needed.

"Why do I get the feeling you'd know how to kill me if you wanted to?" he asks after spotting the fifteenth vaguely arrow-themed object in the living room.

She purses her lips. "Pretty sure everyone could, given the right circumstances. Survival instincts and all that."

"Ha!" He points a finger. "You just admitted it."

"Well, I've seen enough crime shows to know how asphyxiation works and you're lying pretty defenseless there," she points out with a taunting nod. "But I'm feeling mellow tonight, so don't you worry your pretty little red head about impending murder."

They toss corn flakes into each other's mouths—because Artemis doesn't have nuts at home; who doesn't have  _nuts?_ —in between Wally trying to name dozens of her book jackets from afar (and, y'know, looking at them upside down). He's not quite sure how, but he mistakes her  _A Song of Fire And Ice_  collection for  _Lord of the Rings_  DVDs and shamefully accepts the soft pillow she hurls at him for it.

However, when Wally spots his favorite sci-fi novel—the one with actual plausible-if-futuristic science—casually lying on her shelf, he decides that seeing the inside of her home for the first time is way more interesting from down here than it would be from, say, the bed.

Although perhaps that excitement isn't worth the embarrassment of each time he tries to go to the bathroom. Which is worse: letting her help him or stumbling on his own for over two minutes?

He figures it's a tie. Damn Bibbo's for having the best lemonade in the city.

Still, it's pretty cool other than that. Instead of spending the night making soft, explorative trails on each other's bodies with every available tool anatomy can provide, the two of them pass it by asking every question that comes to mind and all the ones they never bothered to think up before. Bottles of beer and bags of chips make occasional appearances.

Around one in the morning, Artemis drapes a woolen blanket over both their feet—Wally winces when it hits his ankle unpleasantly—and they continue their heated discussion on the funniest season of Friends, which, of course, eventually transforms into sharing favorite black hole theories.

"The food was pretty tasteless, actually," Wally says sixteen subjects later, "but they have these  _amazing_  parks. It's one of the greenest places in the world, I think."

She frowns. "I thought Qurac was in the middle of a desert."

"Some of it, I guess, but Bart and I didn't go to that part of the country." He tries to roll a coin through his fingers like Artemis just did and loses it in the couch cushions. His hand reaches down and he grunts. "The way the locals were talking about Queen Bee, though… Sounds like nobody in the entire Quraci government finds her policies even a tiny bit wrong."

"Well, she  _has_  transformed Bialya's entire army during her reign," the blonde says. "They probably can't afford to badmouth her much; diplomacy, fear of invasion, that kind of thing." She shifts closer to him and shows the coin trick again, slower this time.

He can't help but notice how long and nice her fingers are.

"Oh, man," he says to distract himself from her hypnotizing hands, "do you remember when she got all chummy with Obama and everyone thought we were gonna go to war together?" He shakes his head with a snort. "Man, I would  _not_  want to be in the army when that happened."

"I considered joining the army once," she says, casual as ever.

"Really? You did?"

Artemis looks up from the coin. "Don't act so surprised."

"I'm not," he says and realizes it's the truth.

She smiles to herself. "I didn't just consider it, actually; I almost joined."

"Why didn't you?" he asks,

Her lips tighten. "Some… stuff happened and I couldn't afford to be away from my family." She reaches behind his ear and pulls out a coin to stop him from noticing the pain in her eyes. "Sometimes I wish I had anyway, like the way you do with lost dreams. But I wouldn't join an army for Queen Bee, or even an alliance with her."

"No?"

Artemis shakes her head.

"Me neither," he says. "But I wouldn't rule out becoming her lover." He sighs wistfully. "She just gives off this vibe of being a life-changing experience that you won't forget until your dying day."

Wally shakes his head in stupefied wonder, then catches himself and glances up at her, expecting her to chastise him. Instead, she wears a similar expression to the one he imagines must be on his face.

"What?" she asks when he stares. "Oh,  _that_. No, I've had the same thought." Artemis waves him away. "She really does give off that vibe; it's not just you."

And the conversation delves into personal territory.

By five, they're aware they were both on the debate team in high school and they both love Chicken Whizees. Artemis knows his running history (glorious and, at present time, over) while Wally's found out about her past as a street dancer and brief foray into writing children's books.

"Does Dick know?" is all he can say to the latter piece of information, eyes the size of saucers.

"Don't you dare," she says with a laugh. "Don't you even  _dare_ , Wallace Rudolph West."

The latest of bedtimes arrives and departs... and they don't greet it at all. Not even with a yawn.

In the morning, Wally hobbles over to the kitchen to make his famous pancakes and Artemis gets only  _slightly_  distracted by his ass while helping him. He flips through her music library while she makes whipped cream from scratch and gasps at finding A Flock of Seagulls on there.

He gets so into scrolling lower and lower through her hundreds of artists, thousands of songs, that she has to physically dangle the plate under his nose. (He'll be embarrassed later about how long it took for him to notice the food. Right now, he's too busy keeping count of the amount of songs they have in common.)

As a bet to see if they can introduce each other to new stuff, Artemis puts Tin Star Orphans on while they eat and it's not Wally's usual jam (or particularly appetizing, for that matter), but there's something about it…. He leans back in his chair and nods along with half-chewed pancakes forgotten in his mouth.

When the song's over, he hits repeat and hands the girl opposite him a shiny new Lincoln bill without even having to be reminded.

"Okay, I'll bite," he says many hours later, watching as the sun lowers and paints the sky redder with every second. "Why do you have crutches in your apartment?" He nods in the general direction of her coat hanger stand. "I thought I wasn't gonna ask because there had to be a way I could figure it out on my own, but alas… " Wally's lips tighten as he glances at the cards in his hand. "I haven't found a  _single_  clue all night; what gives?"

She gathers her knees up on the couch and leans her chin on one of them. "They're my mom's."

"Okay," he says. "Then where is your mom? Don't tell me she's been here this whole time."

"What? No." Artemis throws him a queen of hearts and delights in the sweet sound of his defeated groan, but then her expression sags. "She forgot them at the club I had my birthday party at. Or maybe left them; I don't even know anymore," she says and drags a hand through her hair. "I haven't been by her place to return them yet."

He frowns, watching as she puts the cards away. "Wait, how does she get around without them?"

"She's in a wheelchair; they're only for rehabilitation purposes right now." Artemis links her fingers behind her neck and glances down to the floor. "Lately she's been kinda losing faith in getting better."

"I'm sorry."

A sigh escapes her. "I keep trying to come up with ways to reignite that determination and tenacity she used to have, but it's like my brain's  _broken_  when it comes to family."

His lips purse. "Maybe, yeah, but you  _definitely_  know a lot of people whose brains are perfectly intact," Wally says and flashes a grin. "I'm sure that, between all of us, we can figure  _something_  out. If you only ask."

"You count yourself among those people, huh?" She smiles to herself as he wags a finger.

"Hey, I will have you know that I minored in physics."

Artemis bites her lip so hard it almost bleeds trying to keep her mouth shut. "...Didn't seem to help you out much last night with the whole falling thing."

He throws a popcorn kernel at her, which she promptly catches and flings into her mouth.

"Are you just about  _done_?" he asks, a chuckle audible in his voice.

She gives an exaggerated shrug. He raises an eyebrow. She lifts her palms up in defense. "Look, sorry, but you keep walking  _right into_  them!" says through a laugh. "What am I supposed to do, not take shots when I can? That goes against my nature, buddy."

Wally humphs. "Well, okay, I can respect that. Anyway, that reminds me…"

"What?" she prompts when he stays silent for forty seconds.

"Uh…" He stares at the fingers drumming on his thigh, warring with himself. Finally, he sighs. "I was just thinking that my ankle feels a bit better. And the streets have probably been salted by now. And it's not dark out yet." He glances up at her. "And with one of  _those_ ," he says, gesturing toward the crutches, "I could probably make those entire hundred yards on my own—including the stairs."

"Can't stomach another moment with me, huh?" Her lips quirk.

"Oh, my stomach's just fine," he says, patting it for effect. It growls beneath his palm, well sated. "I just figure I've been in your luxurious and golden hair long enough. I've already taken up half your weekend, haven't I?"

"It's not even five P.M.," she says with a glance at the clock.

"Oh, I'm sorry, how long were you planning on staying up?" He leans back curiously. "'Cause  _my_  watch says I've been awake for thirty-four hours. So I'm betting 'half your weekend' is pretty accurate."

She twirls one lock of hair around her finger absentmindedly. "Yes, and I don't recall ever complaining about it; do you?"

"Well, no, but you must have had other pla—"

"How about you stop trying to put words in my mouth and answer me one question," she suggests and straightens. "Do you  _want_  to go home?"

He wets his lips, gazing at her. "Not... particularly, no."

Artemis shrugs quickly, a lively gleam in her eyes. "Then stay," she offers. "And don't touch the crutches; Mom's very particular about that."

"Aren't you a little worried that it's gonna get boring?" he asks, mesmerized by her gaze. "It's been over twenty hours; I think I did over two things on my bucket list tonight. What's left but sleep?"

"Waltzing," she says.

His eyebrows fly up. "Wow, yeah, good luck with that," he mutters, nudging her with his good foot and holding back laughter. "I'm serious. We just played about fifteen different card games. What else  _is_  there?"

Artemis looks up at him, about to continue keeping it light and fun, but he drags his hand through his hair and softly bites into his thin lower lip with a faraway gaze, and the words get stuck in her throat. The freckles on his cheeks seem to count themselves without her authorization and she catches herself wondering what his bed hair would look like. Surely it doesn't stand up that perfectly on its own.

She toys with her linked fingers, catching his stare as her body awakens with desire.

"I can think of one thing," she says, barely a whisper.

He gives an intrigued look. "Do tell."

She leans back against the cushion. "You know how we haven't kissed since stepping into this apartment?"

He blinks in surprise. "Uh. Yeah. I thought that was intentional," he points out. "On  _both_  our parts."

"And you were right about that," she breathes out, "but intentions have this.. funny way of changing." She runs her eyes over him, muscle by painfully slow muscle, and, when she returns to his face, it's perfectly clear he knows she just tried to use x-ray vision, however futile the endeavor.

He stares at her suspiciously. "Artemis Crock, are you trying to  _bribe_  me into staying here?"

"As if I would ever resort to such measures." She leans forward and crawls closer on the couch until their faces are two inches apart and his restraint from smiling is visible. "I am simply… demanding," she decides. "On my own terms."

"Well, then." His eyes lower. "I suppose I have no choice but to submit." He closes the distance between them and pulls her close as the memories of seemingly an eternity ago guide his lips.

She wastes no time in pushing him down as far as the couch will allow and straddling his hips. Her hair falls in a curtain around them and nobody cares enough to sweep it away.

Heat spreads from her lips to her eyes and her ears, and her neck, and all the way down to her fingertips and toes, and it's like those last twenty hours were a mere interlude while their life's ultimate player hit the pause button and now they're right back where they started—having just stumbled through the door, hot and crazy for each other, and with nothing more on their minds than getting a one-time room.

Yeah, if she squinted just right, Artemis could almost believe that.

Almost.

"Your ankle," she whispers against his mouth. "How good is 'better'?"

He pulls away long enough to breathe. "Good enough."

And when they stumble into her bedroom minutes later with his lips on her neck—fumbling and tripping like teenagers on their first time, but miraculously escaping with no serious injuries—she no longer quite cares  _what_  she believes. Just as long as this moment doesn't end for a good, long while.

She pulls him down to the bed with a smile on her face.

* * *

 

Artemis wakes with something heavy slung across her shoulders. In that disorienting limbo between consciousness and the remnants of vivid dreams, she wonders if her bedroom switched directions without telling her and now faces the east. Her skin is so much warmer, so much brighter than it should be.

She rolls over under her puffy covers with a soft sigh and beams when her nose half-bumps into someone else's; that limbo's gone and a rush of last night's memories flood her.

The thing on her back—a freckled arm—starts moving as its owner lets out a muffled, deep, groan and starts rubbing circles into her biceps.

"Mmmmm… Mornin', babe," Wally says, meshing the syllables together.

She's never counted the word "babe" among her preferred pet names, but something in the way his lips roll over the letters remind her of what those lips were doing to her not too long before the two of them  _finally_  collapsed in exhaustion. If he keeps using them like that, she might just have herself a new favorite word.

Getting lost in the memory, the woman drags a few fingers through his fiery hair and savors the texture. He cracks one eye open. "Oh, good; it's you. For a moment there, I thought the last forty hours were a dream and I was actually in a coma or something."

"Right, as if your subconscious could ever be that creative," she says, flicking him gently on the ear.

A moment of deliberation. "For once, I'm gonna have to agree with you on that," he says and grins wolfishly. "Never in my wildest dreams would I have guessed you'd have  _that_  tattoo in  _that_  place."

Artemis gasps dramatically. "If I recall correctly, Flash Man, you are sworn to secrecy on that." She lays her lips lightly on his. Once.

"I remember the circumstances of that oath, yes," he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Rest assured; nobody will  _ever_  find out from me."

"Good."

"Just as you won't ever call me Flash Man again."

She grins at this high school nickname, just like she did the first time she heard it. "Pinkie promise."

He winds his free arm around her waist and pulls her in against him, and his heart falters for a split second, demanding to know what the heck he's doing snuggling up to Artemis Crock.

"Last night was fun," he says instead, trying to gauge her mood. " _All_  of it."

The blonde nods slowly, a mysterious gleam on her face. "We should do it again sometime."

"Just name the time and place," he says and kisses her deeply. His attempt at intertwining their legs, though, results in him pulling back with a wince and a sharp hiss. " _Hhhhhh_ —preferably not anywhere with a rough terrain.  _Ahhh!_ " He carefully removes his feet from the bed and lets her go. "And to think I almost forgot what got us into this mess in the first place."

She rolls back to a more comfortable position—one that has the added perk of having an excellent view of Wally's perfectly muscled back and the hundreds of freckles on it. "You okay?"

"I think I need to put some ice on it again," he says, standing upright and searching for his pants. He glances back at her. "You getting up?"

She shakes her head, smiling drowsily, and reaches for her iPod. "I like to stay in bed for an hour on weekends. Just…. taking in the glory of the fact that that I can. And to think." She pulls the blankets up, yawns, and sinks into her pillow, eyes drifting closed. "Thinking is underrated."

"Ah," he mutters and looks at his bare feet, pursing his lips. "The thing is, I would kinda kill for some coffee right now."

Artemis chuckles to herself, eyes still closed. "Make yourself at home."

"You probably wouldn't be saying that if you had ever actually seen my home, but I'll try."

He zips up his jeans, doesn't even look for his shirt, and hobbles into the hall, feeling pretty satisfied with life. (Despite the ankle.) (Or, at least, he will be once the coffee's ready.)

The one mystery he never got around to getting answered before falling asleep—aside from why some of her family pictures look like someone's been cut out from them—is why her bathroom only has a toilet in it and nothing else. The rest of her apartment's relatively spacious, but this is barely a closet with just enough room to turn around in. Kind of unamerican when you think about it.

Glancing back at her bedroom, he quietly nudges the mysterious door next to this one, peeping in with great caution and prepared for anything.

Oh. He strides in as soon as the lights are on. There we go. Her  _actual_  bathroom (a toilet-less one) is painted gold and broadcasts the view of an interesting assortment of creams and lotions—most of them full or nearly so. Wally delights in the realization that the soft carpet beneath his feet turns blood-red at contact with water. (This discovery is in no way related to him putting the tap setting on too cold and causing a mess while washing his face.)

There's two things on his mind on his slow trek to her kitchen: coffee and the odds that Artemis would like breakfast in bed. He figures, with the way his vegetable omelettes taste and what he knows about the woman so far, it's about fifty-fifty. But he kinda owes her to at least try, with the way she took care of him.

Hypnotizing coffee vapors begin to fill the air and he's just about ready to start cracking the eggs when someone knocks.

"Artemis?" he calls in her general direction, forgotten about her iPod. "Someone's at the door."

A knock again. Three of them.  _Hard_.

"Artemis? Did you order something while I wasn't looking?" he calls once more, louder this time, and starts heading her way, but only three steps later realizes it's futile as the knocks start up again and increase in impatience. "Should I get that?!" he calls one last time, already made up his mind.

No time to look for a shirt—it takes him a good chunk of time to even make it to the door because of the stupid ankle—but at least he's not in his underwear.

Although he may as well have been, going by the look the intimidating, raven-haired woman on the other side gives him.

"Can I help you?" he asks, instinctively pulling the door as closed as it can be while still being open. That expression, man. He doesn't fancy himself a coward, but those features twisted as soon as she spotted him and will probably haunt him to the grave.

A small girl stands in front of the woman, looking up at him curiously, and, weirdly, that only enhances his uneasiness.

She narrows her eyes. "Who are you?" she demands in an accent he can't quite place.

"I... asked you first." He gulps and shifts on his feet. "Do you have the right apartment?"

"Okay." She lifts her palms and covers the little girl's ears in one smooth, graceful motion. "Do I need to pull out my knife?"

"What?  _No!_  I already have a sprained ankle; have some  _mercy_ , universe!" Wally grimaces at the ceiling.

"Then explain to me what you're doing at my sister's home at seven in the morning."

" _Excuse_  me, lady, I—!" His eyes land on the woman's eyes that seem familiar all of a sudden. As they should, he supposes, since he spent the majority of yesterday staring into them. He frowns. "Wait, you're… Jade?"

"Yes. Who are  _you_?" she asks again, giving him a once-over.

Wow. Of all the things he imagined Artemis' sister being… How did he never think of this?

"I'm a, uh, friend." He takes a step back to squint at the nearest family picture propped on a bookshelf. Just in case. And opens the door wide moments later, scratching the back of his neck as Jade and the girl come in.

She raises an eyebrow. "Here at this time of day?"

Wally chuckles humorlessly. "I'm a friend of the—" he glances down at the kid"— _sleepover_  persuasion, I guess."

The woman's expression changes. "Really?" It's a genuine-sounding question and he catches himself wondering what that says about Artemis.

Her gaze roams over the cluttered mess of cards, gum wrappers, stray popcorn, and knick knacks all over the living room with the couch as its epicenter; a pleasant warmth spreads over him at the memories of how it was made.

"You have muscles," the girl says abruptly, cocking her head and breaking out into an awed grin. "I  _like_  them." She points directly at one of his nipples.

He smiles weakly. "Oh, thank you…!"

"Lian," she offers.

" _Thank you_ , Lian. I'll just, uh… go get a… shirt," he says and starts making his way back to the bedroom, breakfast in bed forgotten.

"Good idea," Jade says.

He pauses and turns back. "Wait, why are you here? 'Cause… Artemis is still kind of sleeping."

"Then wake her up," Jade says with an authority he doesn't dare to question. "She's babysitting. And if  _she's_  not,  _you_  are," she adds with a daring nod.

He frowns. "You'd really entrust your child to a total stranger?"

"If you're here without a shirt on, you're no stranger, Red." She gives him a meaningful look and pours herself a cup of his precious coffee. (Which he kinda has to suppress a whine about.)

Huh. Not a stranger.

Somehow, the idea is appealing. Wally smiles to himself and goes back to limping to the bedroom as Lian finds herself a book to read.

He quietly searches for his shirt in the pile of clothes on Artemis' floor, not quite sure if he wants to disturb her, but she senses his presence anyway and opens her eyes.

"What's going on?" she asks, taking her earbuds out. "I hear some kind of ruckus. Did you invite the entire team over to evaluate last night or something?"

"What? No." He gives her an offended look in the middle of putting on one sleeve. "Your sister's here. Something about... babysitting?"

"Oh,  _shoot!_ " Artemis collapses back into her pillows, grimacing. "I totally forgot that was today. Hang on, I'll be right there." She pulls herself upright with considerable effort. "And sorry. About her."

He buttons the wrinkled shirt and drags a hand through his hair. "How do you know there's anything to be sorry about?"

"Hah!" The covers slip off her bare skin as she starts stretching. (He only briefly lets his mouth water at the sight.) "With her, there's  _always_  something.  _Hey_ , Jade!" she yells into the hall.

"Morning!" a voice yells back. "Nice chunk of meat you've got there, sis."

Wally freezes on the spot, red spreading over his ears. Artemis gives him a knowing grimace.

"Much better than all those fish sticks!" the voice continues and, this time, they both frown in confusion.

He glances at Artemis. "Wait, is she talking about men or looking into your fridge?"

"I…" Her gaze meets his and she chokes out one incredulous chuckle. "I don't  _know_."

"Always something with her, eh?" He shakes his head. "Anyway, what now?"

Her lips purse as she takes a quick glance around her room. She exhales sharply when her eyes return to him. "Would you mind  _terribly_  if I asked you to distract Jade for, like, fifteen minutes or so? I need to take a quick shower for the benefit of everyone involved and I'm sure I could talk her into helping you down the stairs after that." Artemis dashes around the room as she talks, gathering clean clothes.

"Uh, sure," Wally says. "Actually, I could probably stay and help with the babysitting. I've... heard eight-year-olds are devils."

Her grin disappears as quickly as it graces her face. "Lian's six, actually. And that won't be necessary." She drags a hand through her hair, testing whether she needs to wash it yet. "Don't get me wrong; it sounds appealing right now." She pauses. " _Very_  appealing. Scarily so. But it's been a really weird two days and I think we both just need a little time reconnecting with reality. The one that existed before we were having conversations about babysitting each other's nieces while one of us was, well, naked." She glances down at herself. "You know?"

"The reality that, quite frankly, makes more sense?" he asks.

She chuckles once. "Yeah, kinda."

"That's sensible" he admits. "I'm still not a hundred percent sure this wasn't a dream."

"Me neither," she says with a small sigh, then walks over and kisses him lightly. Once, twice, and again, until they've effectively pinched themselves in the arm. "There. How do you feel now?"

He makes an effort to release his hold on her waist. "Like I should probably go entertain your sister before I end up naked too."

"Good call." She taps him lightly on the ass and struts into the hall. (At which point she starts running to the bathroom to avoid accidentally being seen by Lian.)

When Artemis steps out of the shower twelve minutes later and rushes into the kitchen—worried that, between the three of them, something will have caught fire or been thrown out a window—she's greeted by the sight of Wally explaining basic laws of stars to Lian over on the couch while Jade sips something that smells suspiciously like delicious coffee.

Huh. Well. Good.

"Gimme," she whispers, maneuvering the mug out of Jade's hands and moans at the taste. "Hey, how come I was never informed you knew how to bottle the tears of gods?" she asks louder, in the general direction of Wally.

He flashes a grin without looking up. "Never asked, babe! And, see, because of that," he continues saying to Lian, "when the light of a star  _finally_  reaches you, all those gazillion miles away, it may already have died. Isn't that freakishly cool that your eyes can perceive things that don't exist?"

" _So_  cool," Lian says, mouth hanging open. Artemis doubts she understands a fraction of the magnitude of what the redhead's just described.

Jade taps her sister on the shoulder and nods toward the couch, a question in her eyebrows.

The blonde sighs. "It's a long story."

"Tell me the movie version, then," Jade suggests.

"I…." She sets down the mug and lowers her voice, pretending to scour the fridge for breakfast ingredients. "It happened quick and kind by accident, and it's really early into…  _it_ , and I have no freaking idea where to go from here."

The sharper woman's eyes narrow. "Which part: the sleepover or the liking?"

"The liking." She frowns. "Well, both, I guess, but mostly the liking. Actually, I don't know if the liking happened at all, but… here I am." She gestures lamely. "Blushing like Dad at a sauna."

"No," Jade decides immediately. "You're blushing like Lian when she solves a daunting puzzle. Never like Dad."

"Well, either way, I'm confused as heck." Artemis shrugs. "And… kinda wanna do the whole thing over again. And over. And over. And it's really  _weird_." She turns to her sister with a plea in her eyes. "Get him out of my sight, Jade. I haven't spent the day with Lian in way too long and right now all I can think about is him, and it's just... too impossible to even comprehend. Can you help him down the stairs? And also maybe up the stairs of his building? Pretty please?"

"Of course. What are sisters for?" she says. "But only if you make an effort once you're done freaking out."

"Jade, we—"

"Yes, yes, I don't know what happened and you two are likely to crash and burn." She waves the thoughts away. "Then crash. Burn. Explode, if you must. But don't give up before giving yourself a chance to let someone in," she orders. "I saw his face when he mentioned you while you were here and don't think I can't see how you're barely not smiling right now. Give it a try," she urges. "And I forbid you to think about mine or Mom's past experiences for the next month. Got it?"

Artemis sinks against the kitchen counter in surrender. "Yes, oh, wise one."

"If that's sarcasm I detect," she says with a flip of her black mane, "I can't hear it because I'm the one with a husband, a daughter, and a business."

The blonde nods. "You're also the one who's gonna be late for whatever it is you have to go to if you don't leave soon."

"Good point. Hey, Red!"

Wally looks up from swinging Lian in a circle around the living room. "Yeah?"

"Put your shoes on. We're leaving in five." Jade turns back to her sister. "And you. Keep Lian away from sugar."

"You don't have to remind me." Artemis shivers. "But, hey, don't… tell Mom. About, uh, whatever this is. I don't want her to worry."

"She never  _stops_  worrying. But fine, if you wish."

"I do. Actually, speaking of that… I need to go talk to Wally. Leave some coffee for me," she says. "We should go have a girls' night sometime, though. I miss you, sis." Her arms wind around the older woman and squeeze tightly.

"Fine, enough with the mushy," Jade says after a moment. "Go remove your man from my daughter before she throws up from the spinning."

"Aye, aye, captain. Hey, Wall-man," she calls out, stepping closer, "I thought you were supposed to be putting on shoes. Isn't that gonna take a while?"

"Yes," he says and finally puts Lian down between them, "but this is one cool kid you've got there. Can't blame a guy for trying to weasel out a few more minutes with the coolest girl on the block." He high-fives Lian, who giggles.

"I'm offended," Artemis deadpans, "and you clearly don't know my sister. Come on, chop chop; I'll help you."

"That's really not necessary," he whines when she seats him down like a child. "I can put my own damn shoes on."

"Yes, but can you kiss yourself?" she asks with a pointed look.

He bites the inside of his cheek. "I would be lying if I said I've never  _tried_."

"Uh, okay," she says with an amused grimace, "wrong question. Don't you like this better?" Artemis presses her lips to his.

"I do," he says. "But I kinda feel like you're having ulterior motives here and I want to know what they are." He takes his shoe from her and tries to wiggle his ankle into it. "So that I can take full advantage of them."

"Okay, fine," she admits. "I… wanted to ask you if you... would  _possibly_  be sort of cool with—"

"Wow, I don't I've ever heard anything so vaguely uncertain coming from your mouth." His brow puckers.

"Shut up," she says with a laugh and stares at her hands. "I'd prefer if you… didn't tell anyone about us quite just yet is all. Or, you know, that last night happened. Anything about... you and me, and beds."

He smiles at the phrase.

"All right." Wally ties the sneaker up. "Any particular reason?"

Her lips quirk up. "I'm just gonna mention a little someone called Zatanna Zatara—well, and Dick, to be honest—and leave it at that."

He considers that for a bit. "That's actually a good point," he concedes. "It's not the reason you wanna keep this hush hush, of course," he adds with an easy grin, "but a good point nonetheless; consider it done."

"Thank you," she says, infusing the words with as much sentiment as she can. "And, hey, about doing this again…"

He perks up. "Yeah?"

"I can't promise a whole night of conversation, but it occurs to me that you live a hundred yards away and won't be able to go out much for a while, and I've never seen the inside of your apartment," she says. "What are you doing Wednesday night?"

He leans in conspiratorially and whispers into her ear. "Probably bending over backwards cleaning my living room in an attempt to impress a pretty girl."

"Perfect," she says with a clap to her knees and gets up to say goodbye to Jade. "I'll come over on Tuesday."


End file.
